The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 141

THE FATAL MISTAKE; Or, THE HISTORY OF MR. ELLIOT.

[Written by Himself.]

(Concluded from our last)

However I was resolved to observe her conduct as well as lord Ashford's and act accordingly. I therefore a.s.sumed an air of tranquility, and, by my tenderness, seemed to have banished every painful sensation from her bosom; when one day as we were talking on family matters, and wondering we had not heard from lord or lady Somerset for two months past, a servant brought me a letter from an intimate friend who was dying, and begged to see me; I would not have complied with his request, disagreeable as it was to refuse, had not my Almena insisted on my going.

In a fatal hour I complied with her entreaties, and left her with the utmost reluctance. When I came to the house of Mr. Warner, I found he had expired two hours before my arrival; I paid a tribute of tears to the memory of honest George, who had been my college familiar; and as I had no further business, I hastened back to my wife. I entered the house un.o.bserved by any one, having delivered my horse to a servant I met in the yard, and was proceeding to Lady Almena's dressing room, with all the anxiety of love, when, on hearing the sound of voices I stopped, and clearly distinguished my wife, who p.r.o.nounced these words: "You cannot imagine what I have suffered in this cruel separation. My heart has felt every painful sensation, you have been exposed to: believe me, my lord, my love for you is as violent as before my marriage." "My love, my dearest Almena, answered a manly voice, I do believe you, and am convinced nothing can abate your affection for me." I heard no more, but rus.h.i.+ng to my apartment I seized my sword, and determined to end my woe, by plunging the weapon deep in the heart of the villain who had dishonoured me, I burst open the door of the dressing room, and, heart-rending sight! beheld my wife locked up in the arms of Lord Ashford, as I imagined.

Transported by my rage, I sprung towards him, and buried my sword in his body! He groaned and fell! But, oh Heavens! what were my feelings when I beheld the face of Lord Somerset! Though it was almost dark, I plainly perceived the features of my friend as he lay extended on the floor, bathed in his blood. My Almena had fainted on seeing her brother fall, and so stupified was I with horror at the rash action I had committed, that I was incapable of giving the least a.s.sistance to either.

My faculties at length forsook me, and I fell senseless; the noise of my fall brought the servants crouding to the apartment, there to behold the most horrible sight that ever shocked the eyes of humanity! When I recovered to a sense of my misery, I found my wife had been carried to her apartment during her fit, and Lord Somerset was seated in an armed chair.

Some of the servants were gone for a surgeon, whilst others were endeavouring to stop the effusion of blood.

He faintly opened his eyes, and casting them on me with a look of infinite sweetness, addressed me in the following manner, in a voice hardly audible: "Whatever, my dear Frederick, was your motive for a conduct so precipitate and rash, be a.s.sured I heartily forgive you; and am certain, mistake and fatal misapprehension were the cause of my death!" Here he stopped. The horror and distraction of my thoughts were so great, that, had not my servants prevented, I should have plunged the fatal sword in my own breast! By force they wrested it from me; and I was doomed to bear a wretched existence! I threw myself at the feet of Lord Somerset, and entreated his pardon.

My agonies were so great that before I could inform him of the truth, I was again deprived of my senses. I remember no more, than that after having been a long time confined to my chamber, I recovered to endless remorse!

The excess of my grief threw me into a violent fever which continued a month; during which time my wife and lord Somerset breathed their last!

The latter lived only three days after the fatal wound he had received from me. He had a paper drawn up in which he solemnly attested my innocence, and acquitted me of his death. I found he had been acquainted with my jealousy of lord Ashford, by the villain who was hired by that scandal to n.o.bility; the servant who had informed me of his lords.h.i.+p's visit's to my wife, was the detested creature of this wretch; and these falsities had been invented merely to disturb our domestic harmony; to which the appearance of his comrade in iniquity the day I had been hunting had greatly added, joined also to his evasive conduct. These particulars lord Somerset had been informed of by a letter from the abandoned fellow, who had left the kingdom, as his vile employer soon after did. But though my grief on the death of my Edward was little short of madness, yet the fate of my unhappy wife, rent my heart-strings! that angelic sufferer, on recovering from her fainting, immediately fell into strong labour; and after continuing in the utmost agony for a whole day and night, expired with her unhappy infant ere she had given it birth.

She left her forgiveness for him who had destroyed her and her brother.

I am unable to describe the melancholy situation in which I was involved.

Several times I was tempted to end my miserable being; but some remains of conscience being left, I dared not rush into the presence of my Maker, uncalled for. I was greatly a.s.sisted in my resolution of enduring life, by the worthy Mr. Harpur, who on hearing of my melancholy situation, left his family and came to my house.

The world by his prudent management remained uninformed of my misfortunes; supposing my wife died of a fever in her lying-in, and Lord Somerset of an apoplectic fit. I wrote to lady Somerset the melancholy account of my folly and rashness, and intreated her pardon, as she valued the peace of my soul. But alas! she lived not to grant it me: her sorrow for the loss of her children, joined to her ill state of health soon brought her to the grave! Thus had the violence of my pa.s.sions destroyed three persons dearer to me than the whole world. Mr. Harpur would have persuaded me to leave Trout-Hall, as the scene of my wretchedness, only aided the poignancy of my sufferings, but all his arguments were vain: I was resolved to dedicate my life to penitence on that mournful spot. I accordingly built a retreat in the park and never after left it except once a year, when I forsook my humble habitation, to spend a few hours in the house where my greatest misery was compleated. I generally distributed a large sum of money to the poor inhabitants of the neighbourhood on that day, and in the evening returned to my cottage. I hope my sincere repentance and sorrow for my crimes may have atoned for them to that power whose blessings I had so infinitely abused. For twenty years I lived uninterrupted by any mortal save the good Mr. Harpur, who sometimes came and spent half an hour at my solitary residence. Here I lived and enjoyed more content than I ever thought could have fallen to my lot, after the miseries of my former life. As my prayers for mercy and pardon, at the throne of Heaven, have been real and sincere, so I trust I shall be forgiven, and whenever it shall please the deity to call me hence, I shall rejoice to obey his summons, hoping I shall have peace in a better world, and my error totally obliterated.

One thing I should have mentioned, which is, that the twenty-fifth year of my retirement, I made Mr. Harpur a present of thirty thousand pounds, and left my estate to a distant branch of my family, the only surviving relations I had. I begged my worthy friend to have my remains deposited in a tomb that should be erected in my convent, as I was used to call my residence. This, I have no doubt he will see performed, and may the melancholy incidents of my life warn them who shall see this ma.n.u.script, against the blameable use of reason. Had I suffered mine to have had its proper influence, I had not been plunged in such uncommon distress.

[[Sources:

Original: "Female Stability, or, the History of Miss Belville, In a Series of Letters", London 1780 by "The Late Miss Palmer".

The author is apparently _not_ the better-known Charlotte Palmer.

Possible sources include The London magazine, or, Gentleman's monthly intelligencer (Vol. 50, July 1781, pg 316ff).

Notes: A contemporary review in the London Magazine called the book "instructing and entertaining". Another contemporary, Frances Hamilton, called it "sentimental, badly structured, pointless".]]

NEGLIGENCE In Epistolary Correspondence.

I have no patience with those who apologize for not writing letters to their friends or acquaintances, by saying they have not time enough. Few people are so much pressed for time, as not to be able to spare half an hour, or an hour, in any day, for a particular avocation; a s.p.a.ce quite sufficient for writing a letter. Most of those who make this silly excuse, are frequently, during the day, at a loss for filling more time than would suffice for this purpose. The true reason of the neglect seems, therefore, to be want of inclination rather than of leisure; and he who says--"I have not time for writing," might in general say, with more honesty--"I am too indolent."

But here it may be alledged, in favour of this neglect of correspondence, that it is not worth while, merely for the sake of amus.e.m.e.nt, to write letters; that it is irksome to sit down and be obliged to compose an epistle without possessing any subject of real and necessary business; and that the efforts of invention give to this employment the fastidious nature of a task. These objections, strictly taken, are undeniable: but it is most evident, that whoever makes them, must bind himself never to engage in any correspondence, or write a single letter that is not absolutely and indispensably necessary. And if this principle, which flows from the objections, be allowed, then epistolary correspondence must be left entirely to the concerns of business; and the communications of separated friends.h.i.+p, of love, and all other degrees of social affection, are at an end.

Many people sit down to write a letter as to perform a displeasing imposition, which they antic.i.p.ate with reluctance, and defer as long as they can with decency. I have no objection to that reluctance, provided they would at first---whether requested to correspond, or spontaneously offering---ingenuously confess, that they consider all correspondence, which is not absolutely necessary, to be unworthy of regard: for by this explicit declaration of their sentiments, they would at once rid themselves, and others, of all trouble and expectation on the subject.

The people should acquiesce in preserving correspondence, and then attempt to justify the neglect of it, by reasons which should have been offered before it was entered into, is the matter of complaint.

To such as consider that correspondence by letter is but another sort of personal communication, it will appear strange, that to compose an epistle, should be esteemed by those who possess any of the social affections, as a labour and hards.h.i.+p. Every person, it may be supposed, has some intimacy or acquaintance which he would wish to preserve, and if so small a portion of time might be made subservient to that agreeable purpose, is it not astonis.h.i.+ng that so much reluctance should accompany the performance? The most indolent scruple not to confess their absent connections in terms of affection or attachment, but yet cannot induce themselves to accomplish that frequent interchange of sentiment, which const.i.tutes the essence of friends.h.i.+p, and the nature of correspondence.

It should seem that those who acknowledge the existence of their absent attachments, but are yet too supine to preserve regular correspondence with them, are either under the dominion of an habitual and inveterate indolence, or else they do not feel the power of those attachments so strongly as they would have us imagine. For will the person who feels a real and undeniable pleasure in correspondence, excuse himself from it by such frivolous objections? Will the affectionate wife, separated from her faithful husband; will the ardent lover, debarred from the object of his adoration; content themselves for omitting this delightful duty, by alledging that they have not time? If the occupation employed ten times the s.p.a.ce, they would contrive to accomplish it. And why is this?

Because they take an unfeigned pleasure in the employment.

It will not avail to say that the fervour of pa.s.sion often induces us to sacrifice more time to one object than is reasonable. It is sufficient to deduce, from these instances, that what we really delight in, we can always find means to perform.

Examine employments in which the warmth of pa.s.sion is by no means concerned, as many there are which interest not the affections, but which by various people are highly esteemed; and you will find that such people contrive, whatever may be their other avocations, to dedicate sufficient time to those esteemed employments. Every man has a partiality for some occupation or amus.e.m.e.nt, in which, important as his necessary business may be, he can find time to indulge himself. And thus some persons, indolently inclined, can always contrive to devote a great portion of their time to their favourite G.o.ddess, Idleness; however loudly the calls of business, and of affection, may strive to detach them from her influence.

The general falshood, therefore, of this apology for neglect of correspondence---"I have not time," is evident; being nevertheless true, with the change of one word for another, viz. instead of time, say inclination.

I am apt, however, to believe that this aversion to letter-writing is confirmed, if not induced, by the defect of conversance with literary composition. Since those who have been disused to writing, are observed in general to dislike it; and, on the contrary, persons who have had a learned education, and been early accustomed to epistolary communication, are least averse to it. The defect of practice in composition, must undoubtedly occasion a difficulty of collecting the sentiments, and of properly arranging and expressing them, that may render the employment truly irksome, notwithstanding the utmost warmth of affection. But it should be remembered, that little art is necessary to express the sensations of friends.h.i.+p; and that the simple language of sincerity is universally preferable to the most laboured compositions of ingenuity and elegance.

W----.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

THE DUEL.

----"Are you satisfied?" cried Edgar, accompanying his words with a dreadful thrust. The sword entered the breast of Richard, and but just escaped his heart. "Are you satisfied?" repeated he, while drawing the weapon from the wound, reaking with the blood of his friend. Richard would have replied, but his speech failed. He groaned; he gasped for breath; he fainted.

The clas.h.i.+ng of swords, and the words of Edgar, arroused the venerable inhabitant of the forest. He slipped on his garments, and hastened to the scene of action: With some herbs, of the nature of which he was acquainted, he staunched the bleeding, and Richard again opened his eyes. When the hermit saw he was so far recovered, he returned to his cottage, to prepare a bed, and get other things in readiness for the reception of the wounded person.

The first object that Richard's returning sight brought to view was Edgar. "Traitor! Villain!" he feebly uttered, "hence from my sight---life is no longer pleasing to me---you have strewed before me bitterness. My sister you have wronged; in an unguarded moment you took the advantage; you triumphed over her virtue: And do you still suppose I can behold you with tranquility? If you do, know that I detest you."

"For this I will be revenged!" exclaimed the other. "Take that!---and should our spirits meet in other worlds revenge I'll still pursue!" Here the wretch, triumphing over a fallen enemy, plunged his sword deep into the heart of Richard; and extinguished the spark of life that still remained.

The hermit was returning from his cottage---horror arrested his steps---"he saw the iron enter his soul."

L. B.

February 14, '97.

NEW-YORK.

To Correspondents and Patrons.

[->] While there is an asylum open for registering instruction and depositing the modern progress of genius and literary productions in so large a metropolis as New York, a foreigner, of sentiment and taste, might with propriety remark, how few advocates step forward to eternize their fame, or support, strengthen and establish the infant state of a publication, wholly devoted to seal instruction of a lasting duration on the hearts of a virtuous and enlighten'd people.

The EDITORS, sensible of the abilities of many individuals who const.i.tute various useful and honourable a.s.sociations in this city, cordially solicit them (not thro' selfish motives, but for the public good) to expand and communicate their instructive discussions; by which means, the world and posterity will partake and be entertained by their beneficent solutions. Some there are, who have already been stimulated by the generous impulse of a heart flowing with sensibility, and a desire to transmit their agreeable meditations: These will ever have the grateful thanks of those who are pleas'd with instruction, and particularly the best wishes of the Editors.